


the only kind of steady I believe in

by fortymaliks



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 06:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2571860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortymaliks/pseuds/fortymaliks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The worst thing, or maybe the best thing, Louis really can’t decide, is that he deserves it."</p><div class="center">
  <p>or</p>
</div><br/>Sometimes Louis needs a good spanking and sometimes Zayn obliges.
            </blockquote>





	the only kind of steady I believe in

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [mrsyt31](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsyt31) and Michelle (micmezle) for reading and picking out my mistakes. Any remaining ones are my own. <3
> 
> The title is from Against Me!'s "Unconditional Love".

 

The worst thing, or maybe the best thing, Louis really can’t decide, is that he deserves it.

Okay, so maybe he can decide, he thinks to himself, as he’s pushed roughly through the doors of their green room. He only just manages to catch himself from stumbling as Zayn strides through behind him, closing the door a little too hard, twisting the lock with long, deft fingers that Louis can’t look away from.

The best thing, his mind screams at him, definitely the best thing.

It’s not very often, now, that they have these long days of press. Not like it was before, when day after day, week after week, there was always someone else looking for an interview or an exclusive. They’re in a better position now, don’t always have to oblige. The new album is coming out and they’re buzzing about it, they really don’t mind doing a few days of press.

It’s a long time, is all, for Louis to have to sit still.

If it’s been a long time since Louis’ gotten sarcastic with the press, short and mean with Harry, since he’s left a book signing table with crudely drawn cocks and balls, then it’s been a long time since, well.

Zayn had always been good at leveling Louis out, calming him down.

It’s been a while, a year, at least, since Louis’ needed seeing to. He can’t admit he hadn’t been hoping for it. He’d pressed the microphone into Niall’s face a little harder than necessary maybe, eyes sliding curiously to see how Zayn would react.

When Zayn’s eyes had narrowed at him moments after his, “I am a filthy boy,” Louis knew he’d won.

Zayn spins around from locking the door, folds his arms in front of him. Louis wants to press his hands into the softness of Zayn’s grey jumper. He wants to feel Zayn’s arms, caging him in, squeezing him tight. Maybe later, he thinks, memories flashing between his eyes. Definitely later.

Not yet, though, Louis reminds himself, as he sees Zayn’s dark eyes narrow across the room, there’s the issue of punishment, first.

It’s what it is, really, and Louis doesn’t mind the calling it that. When he’d sat down years ago with Zayn, red-faced and full of shame, to let him know what he wanted, what he needed, he hadn’t shied away from the word. It makes him feel better, evens the score so that Louis feels a little less useless. He’d told Zayn that it would make him feel less guilty about the things he does that he can’t help, and Zayn had nodded thoughtfully, back then, like he understood.

Zayn understands now, still, Louis thinks, as he stalks over to him. Zayn’s hair is long, soft, fucking gorgeous as always, because Zayn’s never managed to find a style that makes him look less like a god. He’s got it pulled back into a bun, wisps held in place by some ridiculous Goody headband that Louis’ seen his sisters use. He’d take the piss out of Harry forever for wearing one, but he knows better, with Zayn.

Zayn, who’s stood in front of him now, crowding into his space, gripping his hips until he’s stepped Louis back into the wall behind him. He feels his back hit, and he thinks briefly that there’s nowhere else for him to go. He’s glad for it. He doesn’t want to go anywhere.

Louis lets his eyes meet Zayn’s, and when they do, Zayn’s soften.

“Been a while,” Zayn comments, eyes dropping briefly to Louis’ mouth, before coming back up to meet his stare again. “Still need this?”

Zayn only waits for Louis’ nod, before matching it with one of his own, before he’s spinning Louis with tight fingers on his bicep and pressing him firmly into the wall.

Louis turns his head so that his cheek is to the cool paint of the green room, a non-descript beige colour that Louis won’t remember in a few hours. He’ll remember the press of Zayn’s hands, though, gripping his hips and pushing, a firm pressure.

Zayn’s stronger than he looks, Louis’ always surprised. He’s surprised all over again when Zayn’s fingers leave where they’re pressing bruises into his hips through his clothes and catch Louis’ hands instead. He grips his wrists, pulls them up, up, up, so that Louis’ stretched out flat against the wall, vulnerable with his arms raised above him.

“Ask me for it,” Zayn’s voice is soft, but it’s got no give to it. Louis only considers spitting back a defiant “no” for a moment, but before he can decide one way of another, Zayn’s leaning in, pressing his wrists harder into the wall above his head.

“Louis,” Zayn says, harder this time, “I want you to fucking ask me for it.”

Louis gasps at the feeling of Zayn’s fingers digging into his skin.

“Please,” he chokes out, “please, Zayn, spank me.”

“Good boy,” Zayn’s grip loosens, and although his first instinct is to pull his hands out of the circle his hands make, Louis stays still. 

Something warm blooms low in his stomach when a moment later, Zayn growls a quiet, “keep them there,” into his ear. Louis breathes out an agreement.

He can’t see Zayn behind him, but Louis knows he’s watching him, and it makes him hot all over. He doesn’t move his hands, though, shifting his weight between his feet because that’s as much squirming as he thinks he can get away with.

“Leave your shirt on, I think,” Zayn’s voice is barely louder than the pounding of Louis’ heart. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

“Trousers, too,” Zayn hums thoughtfully, “just pull your pants down, right under your arse so that you remember that this is all you’re getting from me today.”

Louis sobs out his breath, then. His fingers clench against the wall, flexing involuntarily.

“Dunno what’s gotten into you, today, Lou,” Zayn keeps up a steady stream of words as he reaches around to work on the button on Louis’ trousers. “Don’t know why you’ve always got to push and push. Gonna make it right, though, aren’t we? Gonna make it better.”

Louis wants to take his hands off the wall and help, but he knows better. He knows better than to do a lot of things when Zayn’s in this mood. Just like he knows better than to get Liam going in an interview, or to pick and pick at Harry until his brows furrow into a frown and Louis can tell he’s hurt. He doesn’t always know when to stop, but Zayn. Zayn tells him exactly.

He’s got his trousers and pants pushed down now, down over his hips so that they sit nicely just under the round of his arse and on the tops of his thighs. Zayn hums a noise of appreciation that makes Louis flush even hotter.

He lets his head hang forward then, between his raised arms, his cheeks heated. It’s not exactly so that Zayn can’t see; he knows, anyway, the deep flush of embarrassment Louis feels when Zayn puts him where he wants him.

He’s hard in the front of his jeans; he can feel where his cock catches on the fabric, lower than it usually is where they strain from being pulled down under his arse behind him.

Zayn lets his touch brush lightly over the skin of Louis’ exposed ass cheeks, bringing his lips to the long line of Louis’ neck as he does it.

He ghosts his mouth across all the sensitive parts of Louis’ neck, hands gentle on his arse, rubbing, warming him up. It’s so loving that Louis feels himself relax after a few moments, Zayn’s goal, he’s sure. Zayn’s lips catch and pull at the skin near the top of Louis’ spine, and Louis sighs, sagging forward further into the wall. Zayn’s hands comfort, tickle almost, and he’s not sure how long he gets lost in it.

“Alright?” Zayn asks, quietly, after long moments of them breathing together. Louis inches back to feel Zayn’s front pressed against him as he nods, slowly.

“Are you ready?” Zayn’s voice is firmer now, a sign that it’s time to begin, and Louis clenches slightly, swallows hard.

“Yeah,” he makes himself say, bracing himself against the wall again. He locks his elbows, tightens his grip.

“Just, ‘yeah’?”

“Yes, sir,” Louis corrects, hearing Zayn’s soft chuckle behind him.

“Much better,” Zayn comments, and Louis doesn’t have time to process before he feels Zayn’s hand come down.

Zayn’s starting off easy, Louis’ definitely taken harder, but it still makes him jump, the perfect slap of skin on skin.

He hiccups an, “oh, fuck”, cheeks heating in a deeper blush as he squeezes his eyes shut.

Zayn does it again, and then again, letting Louis get used to the sound, to the pressure.

“Good?” Zayn asks, after the fourth spank, and when Louis nods, he does it again, and that’s five, Louis thinks, five.

“Wanna hear you say it,” Zayn demands, letting his palm rest on Louis’ left arse cheek, cupping gently, feeling the heat there. Louis feels it like a brand.

“It feels good,” Louis says, voice shaking. He presses back into Zayn’s touch, chasing the feeling. “More, please.”

Zayn leans up and presses a tiny kiss to Louis’ damp temple, apparently accepting Louis’ answer, because he sets in again, harder this time, gives Louis five more steady spanks in succession.

“Don’t forget to breath, Louis,” he says, firmly, no-nonsense, and he keeps at it, spanking Louis just how he needs it, not giving him time to recover.

Louis loses himself after the first moments, to the feeling of sharp pain that blooms into something better, something bigger, every time Zayn’s hand falls again. He’s aware of the throb in his shoulders from keeping his arms up, but it’s a dull, relaxing ache. He feels the stress leak out of him with each contact of Zayn’s hand on his hot skin, sinking into the feeling, giving himself up to it. He can feel the salty sting of tears threatening at the corners of his eyes.

He must look obscene, scrabbling against the wall, wrecked and so, so hard. He sobs out, “please, please, more”, even as Zayn shushes him.

He’s not sure how long Zayn goes. His arse is on fire, the continuous slap of Zayn’s palm on his skin echoes loudly in the empty room over the sounds of Louis’ harsh breathing.

He forgets to register anything at all until Zayn stops, looping the arm he’s not using to spank Louis around his waist and holding him… holding him still, or holding him up, Louis’ not sure at this point.

“Four more, Lou,” Zayn tells him, softly. He pulls his hand back up, sets a soft palm on the back of Louis’ neck, gentle and comforting.

Even though Louis’ brain is stuck on a constant loop of, “please” and “more” and “Zayn”, Zayn gives him the words when he says, again, softly, “four more, Louis, count them for me, babe.”

The first of the four is harder than Zayn’s been doing, and Louis sobs out a “one,” on the stutter of a breath. 

Two and three are the same, Louis struggles to get the words out, only knowing he’s succeeding because Zayn’s whispering praise into the skin of his shoulder.

As soon as the, “four,” leaves his lips, Zayn’s reaching up, tugging at his wrists and spinning him around so that Louis sags against him. They sink to the ground together, Zayn’s arms a steady pressure around Louis’ torso.

“So, so, so good, Lou, fucking gorgeous, took it so well,” Zayn’s muttering into his temple. Louis buries his face in the softness of Zayn’s sweater, sobs and clings at the material.

“You did so well, babe,” Zayn’s accent is strong, now, a sign that he’s overwhelmed. He doesn’t let go of Louis, though, pulls him further into his lap. Louis ignores the throb of his arse and goes, settling like he belongs there.

Zayn breathes through several, long minutes with him, running his hands up and down Louis’ back, petting soothingly across Louis’ sore arse. He let’s Louis cry into his neck, holds him tightly, and Louis doesn’t know how to thank him for being exactly what he needs.

He manages to find words, eventually, when his breath is coming at a more normal pace, and he begins to feel silly where he is, clinging to one of his best mates like a messy, leaking sloth.

“Thank you,” Louis manages, pulling back to catch Zayn’s gaze.

“‘Course, you idiot,” Zayn says, leaning in to press his lips against Louis’, quickly, before pulling away to watch him closely.

Louis hums and goes back in, catching Zayn’s lips with his own and kissing harder, deeper.

When they break apart, Zayn’s hands slips between them to palm Louis’ dick where it’s hard between them.

“Do you need…” he trails off, squeezing slightly, making Louis’ cock jump.

“Later, I think,” Louis tells him, pushing up from the floor, out of Zayn’s lap, with shaky legs. He reaches a hand down to Zayn, pulls him to his feet, too.

“Later,” Zayn agrees, brushing off his jeans. He steps into Louis’ space again, reaches behind him to pull his trousers back into place. He sets his hands on Louis’ arse one more time, as if testing to feel the heat of Louis’ red skin through his trousers. Louis flushes deep.

“Definitely later,” Louis agrees, pressing one last kiss to Zayn’s lips before twisting out of his grip, and rolling his neck to crack it. He feels good, happy and loose and loved.

Twisting the lock on the door open, he waits for Zayn to fish his package of smokes from his pocket and join him.

“Can I bum one? I haven’t got mine on me,” Louis asks, patting at his pockets to illustrate.

“‘Course,” Zayn mutters around the cigarette on his lips, as he loops an arm across Louis’ shoulders and pulls him tight. “Anything for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> //[tumblr](http://fortymaliks.tumblr.com)//[twitter](http://twitter.com/fortymaliks)//


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